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vA DOQ’S LIFE 

by Tiqe 

Army Cartoons and Comic History 
of Our boys in France 

C. b. Hopkins 

Ex^lst. Lieutenant M. Q. Co. 316 Inf. 79 Diu. 

Knou>n Ouer There as “HOP", Author of "The Passing Dog" 


U. S. Copyright 1919 
by C. b. Hopkins 

M\ Foreign Rights Reserved. 


Published by 

<The Eoff^Sewell Company 

711 Madison ^luenue 
^Toledo,, Ohio 






^6 


% U 
£ 


A$ 






aA 


NJ 


Qrim Humor of IDar 


Humor finds and takes the brightest way in every walk of life. This 
humor, somehow, shows in “A Dog’s Life. The humor of our boys in the 
world war will live in spi^e of everything. It shows grim at times, like life and 
death, "but always 100% American.” 

It is earnestly hoped that all who see this humor will bear in mind that, 
at every bit of brave brightness, we are in the eternal presence of the spirit 
of our dead through the merit of whose sacrifice we enjoy our present life and 
whatever measure of freedom is ours today. 

S. P. Stearns, Exclusive Publisher. 

Harry E. Kern Post 93, 


f 

r 


American Legion, 

Toledo, Ohio. 


J 



©CI.A559181 






Author’s Preface 


This story is told by Tige, an American dog. He tells his experiences 
with our boys in France during the world war. 



EXPLANATORY 


A. W. O. L.—Absent without leave. 

Corned Bill—Corned beef or corned 
beef hash. 

Dog robber—Nickname used by en¬ 
listed men for soldier who looks 
after officers equipment. 

Dud—Unexploded thell. 

Embryo Officer—Newly commis¬ 
sioned. 

Flare—Burning power on ground to 
light up no man’s land at night. 

Flying victrolas—Shells that sing. 

Frogs—French, nicknamed by Am¬ 
erican soldiers. 

Goldfish—Canned salmon. 

G. H. Q —General Headquarters. 

Humming birds—Pieces of shrapnel. 

Lou:—Lieutenant 


Lighter-Barge. 

M. P.-Military police. 

P. C.—Post commander. 

Sam Brown — American soldier's 
nickname for officer wearing 
broad belt around waist support¬ 
ed by narrow strap over right 
shoulder. 

Shavetail—Newly commissioned of¬ 
ficer. 

S. O. L.—Sure out of luck. 

Striker—Official mention of soldier 
who looks after officers equip¬ 
ment. 

Tin Lizzie—Steel helmet. 

Jerry, Heine, Fritz, Hun, Boche and 
a number of other names—Ger¬ 
mans and Austrians. 






A DOQ'S LIFE 


When a pup half-grown I wandered into an 
Army Camp with a boy. I lost the boy when 
I heard the Band. Since then I have lived on 
Army rations. 

* * * * 

When our outfit was ordered overseas, I was 
smuggled aboard the transport. The sailor 
who finally found me, though he declared me a 
“Depth Bum”, did not throw me overboard. 

We started with the Goddess of Liberty 
pleading with outstretched arms. But away we 
went, anyhow. We couldn’t help it, we were 
blown into it. Simply drafted, that’s all! 

We saw sea gulls, sharks, a whale or two, 
flying fish and porpoise that jumped and raced 
with us beside the boat. Now and then we had 
a submarine scare. The boys slept in their life 
jackets. My bunkie said I was S. O. L. be¬ 
cause he could not find a jacket to fit me. 
Nevertheless I appeared at every boat drill, 
which is twice a day, tucked snuvly under the 
arm of my bunkie whom I named “Smellfoot.” 

Funny I wasn’t sick once although at times 
it was very rough. But, say, that reminds me! 
One day, while standing on deck, a boy whom 
later the boys named G. I. Can, was intently 
feeding the fishes. My bunkie came up and 
slapped him on the shoulder saying, “I am sorry 
G. 1., that you have such a weak stomach.” 

“Weak stomach nothin’! Bet I can throw 
as fer as you kin!” said he—and he did. 

Gee! It’s a good thing there wasn’t an of¬ 
ficer near for we weren’t allowed to throw any¬ 


thing overboard for fear the subs might trail us. 
I suppose he wouldn’t have cared anyhow. I 
heard him say he didn’t care what happened to 
him now. He hadn’t eaten for two days. 

* * * * 

Here we are in Port! It is now 3:00 A. M. 
Lighters have for some time been lying along¬ 
side our transport. 

About an hour ago, Smellfoot, who is on the 
baggage detail, carried me down a rope ladder 
and deposited me at one end of the lighter on a 
pile of luggage. 

Gee, it’s fierce! There is another lighter 
just above us from which the transport is taking 
on coal and the wind is blowing in our direc¬ 
tion. Smellfoot turned the light on me a min¬ 
ute ago and told G. I. that from all appearances 
he would have to call me Nig now instead of 
Tige. I tried to smile up at him but all I could 
do was sneeze. Finally our lighter and two 
others were pulled ashore by a tug. 

* * * * 

Then we marched down the docks and quar¬ 
tered in pig-sheds open on three sides and 
paved with mud. All this time the rain was 
coming down in torrents. Most of the boys 
fell asleep leaning against the sheds or on 
boxes. 

About ten that morning the Loui who was in 
charge of our detail returned from town. Gee, 
he looked funny! I had to smell him six times 
before I recognized him. He had on one of 
those cute oversea caps and a brand new Sam 



A rKIVA 1 fc. U\! 1-KAlNCt. 



Vov tez-Vovs 

l PRotAEtihOE 
I AVFC MOI? 


“Ou! La! La! Sweet Papa! Kiss me Queek!” See the French Jane on 
the fence! Is the handsome young soldier telling her a funny story? No! 
Is he asking her out to lunch? No! She is telling herself a joke and is 
■smiling out loud. The young soldier imagines she is enjoying his conversa¬ 
tion; and perhaps she is! 

French girls were very entertaining. They did everything they could 


to keep our boys from getting homesick. 

Tige, the dog, is having the time of his life. He has walked all the 
way from a distant town. He encounters a beautiful maiden dog with 
whom he falls in 'ove at first sight. His French is dog-gone limited. The 
maiden deg is much impressed with his American manoeuvres but is shy 
in her own French way. 









Brown Belt. His shoes were shined and he 
had taken a bath although he had had no sleep. 
The bath only made him look like a scarecrow. 
The coal-dust from the lighters was firmly im¬ 
bedded in the cracks of his face, eyes and ears. 
He told us to “Fall-in” although he said he 
hated to do it. We were informed we would 
have fine quarters at our next camp. Just then 
the rain increased in volume. 

We marched through the railroad yards up 
into the town. We wound round and round 
through it, up hill after hill, with grey stone 
buildings and fences on either side. At last 
we reached our destination. A vast swamp 
lay before us with many tents sticking out of 
the mud. Here we were told to pitch ours. 
But let me tell you something right here. Even 
if I am a dog, I am a little particular where I 
sleep. Smellfoot was grumbling while he 

worked, “Tige, this is heaven.” But he 

couldn’t fool me. I just wagged my tail 
stump. 

* * * 

After remaining in this camp, which we 
dubbed ptomaine barracks, three days, we 

broke camp and marched down through the 
town again where we were packed tightly in 
box cars. Each car was labeled 8 Cheveaux ou 
40 Hommes meaning eight horses or forty men. 

When we were “all set,” there was just room 
enough for me to squeeze in, so they left the 
horses out. Few of the boys could sit down at 
one time and no one could lie down. Some of 
them stood up the whole trip which lasted three 
days. In this space of time we traveled about 
a hundred miles. 


The second day we stopped and were called 
outside to fill our canteens with water. When 
we returned to the cars the officers cautioned 
us that it might be three days more before we 
got any more so not to be wasteful. We 
should be very economical. The water was to 
he used only for drinking, shaving and washing 
clothes; if there was any more left we might 
possibly take a bath also. 

G. I. Can and Smellfoot willingly did with¬ 
out their baths, shaving and clothes washing, 
so that I got my drinks when they did. They 
agreed that as long as they were to live a dog’s 
life they would share up with me. Never be¬ 
fore, they said, had they any comprehensible 
idea of what a dog had to put up with. Never 
would they refuse a dog anything again. I 
felt closer to them than ever before. 

Smellfoot said, that a bone thrown to a 
dog after you have had your fill is not charity. 
But wh n you only have a bone or a can of 
Corned Bill that must last you three days and 
you shared it with him, that was real charity! 

I am beginning to think as much of Smellfoot 
as I did cf my own mother. They are so much 
alike in their ways. 

We passed through some hills with many 
villages built in cliffs, but gradually came to the 
level country. Every town we came to we 
stopped in the yards just outside. Hundreds 
of prisoners were working about the tracks, 
while here and there French soldiers whom the 
boys called “Frogs” stood around with guns on 
their shoulders. 

At last we arrived at the training area. The 
French “dames” received our boys with open 


ACTION IN THE REAR 



Isn’t this a striking picture? 

It is a well protected spot, except the southeast of the south end of 
the old Army Mule. 

The gentle animal is so tickled at the prospects of getting a new pair 
of shoes that he throws his free front leg around the b’acksmith’s neck. 

The man on the left has a tired disposition. He is resting momentarily 
the right hind leg of the mule. It won’t be long before he tires of this 


position and lies down. 

The man on the right appears to be holding a bottle of smelling salts. 
In reality it is a stick with a piece of rope attached, called a twitch. One 
end of the rope is wound about the upper lip of the mule. This piece of 
rope adds to the mule’s confidence and keeps his lip from quivering. An 
upturned nailbox shows the carelessness of the blacksmith. Tige decides 
that it is no place for him. 


on 










arms and marched beside them through the 
town. It was the first time many of them had 
ever seen an American, but it wasn’t the last. 
Soon all of the fences were decorated with 
them. 

* * * * 

Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z BANG! Z-Z-R-R-R-R-R-R 
ZIM! B-R-R-R-R-R-R He Haw! Whang!—D 
—! D—! He Haw! D—!!???? He Haw 
Haw Haw Zif Whang! 

Startled, 1 leaped to my feet and started off 
toward the picket line. 

As 1 rounded the newly constructed horse- 
shed, the battle was raging high. 

We had just received a bunch of mules 
and horses, some gassed and some sick, also a 
few that should have been both sick and gassed 
too. Out in the arena one of these latter stood 
at bay, ears pricked forward, waiting the next 
manoeuvre. 

Souvenir Hunt, who was on a permanent 
stable detail, was trying to throw a rope over 
the mule’s neck. Not succeeding in this he 
placed the noose on the ground and the whole 
detail proceeded to back the mule into it. 

At last the trick was done! 

Up steps the blacksmith again, shoe in tongs. 
Quietly he puts the shoe in place. 

No one knows just what happened then! 

It seems Souvenir had caught the wrong leg 
of the mule and seeing his mistake loosened up 
on the rope. He smiled affectionately at me. 
Suddenly the smile seemed to freeze on his 
face. He rose far in the air on the mule’s hind 

leg- 

“Don’t let go, don’t let go, hang to her,” 


shouted Slim who was holding the twitch and 
was being dragged all over the place. At the 
same time the mule swung a leg caressingly 
over the blacksmith’s shoulder and grasped the 
raised hammer, daintily, in his teeth. 

What was said I wouldn’t dare repeat but 
blacksmith, Slim, mule, Souvenir and another 
helper were down on the ground, seeing which 
would kick up the most dust. I beat it! It 
was no place for Tige! 

* * * * 

Drill, Drill, Drill! 

Nothing but drill except Saturday and Sun¬ 
day when we hike. I am getting tired follow¬ 
ing the bunch. At first I took side chases after 
a rabbit or a French dog, but now the drills are 
so long and tiresome I take my place in the file 
closers and stick where I belong. 

Smellfoot is a No. 1 in the rear rank of 
the last squad. 

The area we now occupy is a little nearer the 
front; a short while back it was occupied by the 
Boche. Trees and ground are torn up horribly 
and mud everywhere. No wonder the Boche 
left! Today on our hike we tramped down a 
road unusually swampy. I was recon noiter- 
ing on the left flank when suddenly several sus¬ 
picious looking objects jumped up and leaped 
away before me. Before Smellfoot could 
reach me I killed about a dozen. I heard him 
coming behind me yelling something about my 
bringing on international complications. 

“What do you mean, complications?” says 
G. I. Can. 

“By chasing the Frogs.” says Smellfoot. 

When I heard this I stopped short horror 


INTERNATIONAL COMPLICATIONS 



The animal cha9ing the frog is Tige the dog, not a goat. Sometimes he 
thinks he is. This time his master, Smellfoot, prevents him from bringing 
on International Complications. The French soldiers are called “Frogs" by 
American soldiers. Frequent intense rivalries arise between them. It is 
a very serious affair to offend the Frogs. 

The high explosive shells have neatly trimmed the trees. See the shell- 
holes on the hill to the right! The dud in the foreground is one of many 
which fail to explode. Some of these were fi !ed with sawdust. One contained 


a note written by a prisoner in Germany which read: “Do your bit we’re doing 
ours.” 

Smellfoot*8 pack gives considerable protection to his spine. It contains 
not only his provisions and household equipment, but, when unwrapped, 
frequently holds three or four enemy bullets, which had lodged there. His 
spade protects his “tin lizzy" but the captured German helmet is not carried 
for any 9uch purpose. It will be mailed home at the first opportunity where 
it will either be used as Grandfather’s cuspidor or Sweetheart’s flower pot. 



stricken. Up to this time I did not know that 
“Frogs” were French soldiers. I began to 
realize what I had done so I crouched upon the 
ground to await the end. Smellfoot laid his 
hand affectionately upon my head and said if I 
wouldn’t tell anybody he wouldn’t either. To 
get rid of the evidence he picked them up one 
by one and dropped them into his pocket; that 
night our carnivorous squad had them for 
supper. 

Say! some awful funny things occur over 
here. The other day a few of the boys were 
passing down a road when they saw a colored 
cook drop a piece of meat in the mud and. with¬ 
out washing it, throw it back into the pan. 
One of the men stopped and said, “Good Lord, 
cook, you’re not going to serve that piece of 
meat, are you?” The cook replied, “Now 
you-all go long ’bout yo’ business! Tain t 
none o’ yo’ business! I’se cookin’ fo’ the of¬ 
ficer’s mess.” 

Another instance: An American nigger 
walking up to a French nigger from Algiers 
smilingly asked where he was from. The Al¬ 
gerian politely said "No Compre”. The Amer¬ 
ican nigger backed away from him cocking his 
head on one side said disgustedly, “Huh! Whah 
yo’ from, nigger? Yo’ ain’t no nigger at all! 
Yo’ can’t speak good United States talk.” 

* * * * 

What do you think You could never guess. 
It seems so impossible. We have moved 
cgain. This time into a town. Can’t tell you 
what its name is. I suppose it had one once, 
but the people who lived here must have taken 
it with them when they left. If they didn’t the 


Boche did for they took everything else. Can’t 
say everything exactly for a couple of ducks 
and some young chickens wandered into our 
boudoir. How they ever overlooked them I 
can’t say unless they were born after the Boche 
left. 

We billetted at once. Couldn’t find Smell- 
foot so took up a temporary bunk with Souv¬ 
enir Hunt. Hardly had we gotten our bunk 
made up when in comes G. I. Can and explodes, 
“Where in Purgatory am I going to bunk?” 

“Bunk!” snapped Souvenir turning around, 
“You can’t ‘bunk’ me. This hotel is filled al¬ 
ready. I suppose you know it’s first class too. 
Tige and I and the rest of the aristocrats sleep 
here. We have all modern conveniences, even 
running water—when it r?iins. . Why don’t you 
try the hotel across the street?”- 

“Nothin’ doin’,” said G. I., “they’re full even 
upstairs. Have a heart, Souvenir. Who ’as 
got your upper bunk?” 

Souvenir leaned forward gloweringly, 
“Say, soldier, where do ya’ git that stuff? Don’t 
ya’ know what thet’s fer? Well, I’ll tell ya’. 
Each guy in this hotel has an upper and a lower 
berth. When the rain comes down from above 
he sleeps below. In case of a very likely flood 
and the water gits deeper than usual he takes 
the upper. It’s what we machine gunners call 
an alternative position. Git me? So you see 
for yerself this hotel is filled. We believe in 
preparedness. Tige, page Mr. G. I. Can out¬ 
side.” 

* * * * 

Well, did you ever! Smellfoot and I are 
billetted in the grand Hotel de Barn with plenty 


HOTEL DE BUNK 



Isn’t this a homelike scene? 

Little family quarrels, chickens “and everything!” 

By the looks of things, everybody left kind of sudden like. See where 
a shell made a direct hit on the house across the street. Also where part of 
the roadwall is gone, probably so that the cow and chickens might find the 
Boche! 

Tige already feels at home. 


Would you enjoy one of these lovely beds commonly known as "bunks’ ? 
They were built by an army carpenter, who perhaps in civil life was a col¬ 
lege professor, and a blacksmith who was a barber. Such men as these went 
ahead of the troops under command of a billetting officer. Bunks were 
constructed when no other sleeping quarters could be obtained. When no 
material was availab'e the men slept on the ground; often firewood was 
very scarce. 








of hay. We slept fine last night, too, only— 
well, I’ll come to that presently. 

In my dreams I had an awful attack of the 
French itch, back of my left ear. I guess I 
must have made a mistake which ear it was. 
Twice Smellfoot awoke with dreadful yells, 
using most unparlorly language. At last he 
got sore, there was blood in his eye—and on 
his face, “Scratch yer own dern ear,” he hissed, 
as he clamped his hand to his face. “Cut it, 
pup, or I’ll pull yer toenails out by the roots!” 
When he gets affectionate he always calls me 
“pup.” 

It was my own ear I thought I was scratch¬ 
ing. When I had pulled myself out from under 
him, I scratched it just to show him. 

* * * * 

Today I noticed Smellfoot acting queerlv. 
Many times have I watched him glance fur¬ 
tively around. At first I didn’t bother much 
and only followed him with my eyes. Once I 
got up and trailed him to the door. But now 
he is acting wild and sings crazy songs. One 
in particular impresses me, it runs something 
like this: 

“They run wild, simply wild, over me, 

In a skirmish line they travel up my knee; 
They wait their every chance 
To go scooting up my pants. 

They run wild, simply wild, over me.” 

There he goes now out to an old ruin, stealth¬ 
ily I follow him. He is quite delirious. He has 
started a different melody: 

“Cute, little cute, little cootie, 

Oh! My! what a beauty! 

As long as you travel up my back 


My frantic fingers will never slack 
Cute, little cute, little cootie.” 

Honestly, I am worried! I don’t know what 
rash deed he may commit next. There he 
stands, in a pile of debris, taking off his slicker, 
overcoat and blouse. I am quite certain he is 
crazy. Off comes his shirt! He actually re¬ 
moves it. Just think of it. He hasn’t had it 
off for two months. Muttering dire threats, 
he holds it close to his eyes. 

“Hello, old jungle buzzard,” comes a voice 
just behind me and turning quickly I behold G. 
I. Can stripped to the waist and apelike mimic- 
ing Smellfoot, his own shirt held before his 
eyes. 

“Jungle buzzard yerself!” says my ward, 
never taking his eyes off his shirt. “I’ve just 
discovered a flock of lizzards and am havin’ a 
feast. Ya hav’n’ any success yerself?” 

I didn’t hear the reply for suddenly I became 
possessed with a frantic desire to scratch. 

* * * * 

We had inspection today. Our gas masks 
“and everything”. I suppose I showed you 
that we had been wearing them in the alert 
position for sometime now. 

1 assisted the lieutenant. We inspected the 
bunch in our platoon. All went well till we 
came to G. I. Can. “Why didn’t you shave 
this morning?” said the Loui. 

“I did, sir,” said G. I. 

“What!” said the Loui. 

“Shaved, sir,” reiterated G. I. 

“Let’s see your razor,” said the ‘Sam Brown’ 
guy. 

“Here, sir.” 


OBSERVATIONS 



The officer in the picture has been inspecting the men. He now stands 
before the last victim. For twenty minutes he instructs the man in the art 
of shaving and the care and use of the razor. Being dn “ejnbryo officer’* this, 
in his eyes, is the most important event in moderfi warfare. Tige is very 
much afraid, that, in the officer’s enthusiasm he may lose his beard also. 

Unbeknown to the “Shavetail” the men also are holding inspection. 

A short whi’e before a G. H. Q. order had been read to them, demand¬ 


ing that at all times in this area the gas mask and field helmet be worn by 
oTcers and men at all times. The gas mask to be worn in the alert position. 
The men have decided that the officer would make a better barber than a 
soldier. 

The lieutenant though, feels that he is making a great impression on his 
men. For he had spent two hours placing his overseas cap at the proper 
angle and kept his “dogrobber” busy for the same length of time polishing 
his Sam Brown belt and boots. 



Slowly the officer passed the blade across his 
gauntlet. “Better use the sharp edge instead 
of the back, next time you shave,” he said and 
passed on to the next victim. 

* * * * 

We had gas drill again today. Nothing new 
for me. I get mine quite often; whenever and 
wherever Smellfoot gets the notion. Some¬ 
times he wakes up in the middle of the 
night, slams something into my mouth, puts a 
clamp on my nose and then yanks a hood over 
my head. It always happens whenever some 
guy takes a notion to hammer on a piece of 
pipe, turn the handle of an old auto horn, or 
accidentally discharges a gun. At first it was 
extremely funny! . Now it has ceased to be a 
joke! I am willing to try anything once, but 
my patience has ceased to be a virtue. All 
night long, every five or ten minutes, someone 
hollers “Gas”. Instantly my wind is shut off 
and that abominable thing is forced on my 
head. So now I simply stay awake all night 
and wait for it. What sleep I get I steal during 
the day when the nuts are squirrel-hunting. 

Smellfoot, as a rule, is quite rational; but 
from loss of sleep he is getting as dippy as the 
rest. Last night he lay down to sleep. No 
sooner had he closed his eyes than G. I. crawled 
in and taking off his shoes put them up under 
his head for a pillow. 

“GAS!” yelled Smellfoot, jumping up, and 
jammed my head into that straight-jacket 
again. Immediately everyone yelled gas and 
tooted and pounded cn tin cans for miles 
around. And they shoot dogs for hydro- 


Today we are on the “hike” again. Hike, 
hike and more hike. Through rain and more 
rain. Then to make it interesting, on our way 
through the mud, one of the mules, while the 
driver was walking ahead with another driver, 
decided to kick up some thing. He didn’t 
have anything particular to kick about but just 
kicked on general principles. Most all good 
soldiers are kickers, too. 

Our home now is a “corrugated iron shell- 
proof,” and oh you mud! Smellfoot says 
Sherman only said half of it, for he forgot 
about the mud. While we were all tired out, 
orders were passed down the line for foot in¬ 
spection. I don’t get as much foot inspection 
as the rest, but, believe me, I get enough. By 
the way, on the hike today, Smellfoot made me 
wear my gas mask for a full hour, saying 
that tomorrow I’ll have to wear it again. 
Dog-gone him, he tries to make a dog’s life as 
uncomfortable as possible! What good is a 
dog’s smeller if he can’t use it? The country 
is full of wild daisies and other odors too. I 
wandered today to an old chateau looking, as 
usual, for nothing in particular. The sun 
came out for about five minutes, so I lay down 
in an open window. The walls of this house 
were about two or three feet thick and the win¬ 
dows, what’s left of them, are very narrow. 
It must have been very pretty here at one time, 
perhaps about three hundred years ago. I 
looked out across a stone-walled inclosure that 
still contained a few flowers in the many gar¬ 
dens here ^nd there. The chateau rested upon 
a hill. At its base, a walled road winds down 
and away, slowly twisting through and between 


SOMETHING TO KICK ABOUT 



Drivers of machine gun carts were very ; shciable • fellows. They took 
every opportunity to chat together. They eVpnr'Hjed their mu’es lead ropes 
to the back of the cart in front, when no officer was near. Their conversa¬ 
tions were not limited to any one subject ard usua'ly drifted from mules to 
generals. There is a shelihole in the road. Tige is not looking at that. He 
is looking over and beyond, philosophizing bn the natures of men and mules. 


Do you see the driver running back? His mule had been tied to a cart. 
For some reason the train had stopped. When it started on again the mule 
was asleep. The halter broke; this awoke the mule! Therefore he decided 
to register a few kicks. 

The little round doughnuts in the sky are not doughnuts at all-no 

Salvation Army there. They are shots from anti-aircraft guns playing tag 
with aeroplanes. 




old grey houses until it becomes the main street 
of the village. Across the road from me is an¬ 
other hill, rising up from the opposite road- 
wall, which has been hit by many shells. Like 
the trees that run half wc y up the slope it is not 
beautiful to look upon. 

Ghost-like on the summit of this hill, clearly 
outlined against the sky, is the ruin of an old 
church built early in the 1 3th century. It was 
still in use when the Boche came. A few old, 
gray houses are seen, immense holes in their 
brown and red tiled roofs, rafters sticking out 
awkwardly, like the ribs of a manhandled 
corpse. A good many people have returned to 
their homes. Although the shells screech in¬ 
cessantly overhead, the village crier makes his 
trips through the streets every morning. Every 
once in a while he stops and beats upon his 
drum. When a crowd'gathers he chants forth 
the news in a weird and monotonous voice. 
He is a queer-looking individual with a gizzly 
beard,'about sixty-five years old, lame and bent. 
He wears a long cape and hood under which are 
clothes and cap of the type much in vogue dur¬ 
ing our famous war of 1863. He told the 
people yesterday that they must not sell us any¬ 
thing; particularly milk and eggs. As though 
we cared for anything but Corned Bill and 
crackers. 

Do you remember seeing a picture of Marie 
Antoinette, hands clasped before her, seated be¬ 
side a priest, in a two-wheeled cart? I did, in 
a pile of wreckage in a chateau court yard. 
But what I was going to say is this: They still 
use those same carts today, pulled by rickety, 
gassed, worn-out army horses or little donkeys 


hardly larger than I. One is just going by 
now. Every two or three steps the driver hol¬ 
lers, “Allay! Allay! Toot Sweet!” as he walks 
beside him. The sound of his wooden shoes 
cluttering down the pavement, the remem¬ 
brance of his faded blue smock that drops like 
a cloak to his knees and his tilted tam-o-shanter 
will always remain with me. 

# * ¥ * 

Souvenir Hunt started something yesterday. 

He and Smcllfoot were standing arguing 
whether one of the French civilians had skirts 
on under his blue apron. 

Smellfoot swore he had. 

Souvenir bet “du franc” he had none. 

Smellfoot dared him to see—for he didn’t be¬ 
lieve it. Souvenir walked up slowly and, 
while Smellfoot engaged the victim in a mon¬ 
key-shine conversation, suddenly lifted up the 
apron and looked under. 

My bunkie beat it, but Souvenir was laugh¬ 
ing so he couldn’t run. I felt the same way 
myself. With comic indignation the frog 
yanked loose his apron, waving his arms wildly 
as he turned on his curious visitor. 

I never was much good with the French lingo 
anyway, so don’t ask me to repeat it. All I 
heard was a rapid fire of unintelligible adjec¬ 
tives, so swift and venomous that even Sou¬ 
venir missed two-thirds of it. But he under¬ 
stands the sign language all right, all right! 
The Frenchman shook first one fist and then 
the other under his nose. Finally he passed a 
finger across his throat, all the time dancing up 
and down. 

Suddenly I saw the expression on Souvenir’s 


FIFTEEN MINUTES’ REST 



Don’t keep very quiet while surveying this scene. If you do you will 
wake these sleepers. They cannot rest without noise. 

If you get close enough to them you can hear them snore. In a few 
minutes they will be on the hike again. 

Please note the mud. 


The trees have been neat'y trimmed by many shells so that when the 
war is over the forester will have little to do. 

The light in the distance is not caused by the rising sun. It is the re¬ 
flection from the discharge of many guns. 


face change. You’d think he’d seen the devil. 

“Tige,” says he, “we must beat it. Here 
comes an M. P.!” 

I was laughing so I could hardly follow. 
But the Frenchman did, taking great strides, 
leaping into the air yelling and gesticulating. 
The M. P. made as though to follow, but after 
enjoying the scene for a few moments oblig¬ 
ingly turned in another direction. I followed 
and harassed the frog, but 1 was so filled with 
rlee that I could hardly nip his legs. Suddenly 
Souvenir stopped and whirled about. 

“Huh! Ya ain’t no burglar!” said he, as he 
pushed out his hand with outstretched fingers. 

The frog’s nose instantly flattened out, his 
legs shot out to either side, and with extended 
arms he sat down. 

Reaching down Souvenir grasped him by 
the nose. 

“Do ya tink yer scarin’ somebody, huh? 
Well, ya ain’t, see?” said he and, giving the 
nose a little twist, turned away. 

As we walked down the street, I occasion¬ 
ally glanced back. The last I saw of our vio¬ 
lent adversary, he was scratching his head and 
staring after us. He was no longer demon¬ 
strative. He had met his first American. 

* * * * 

Oh, Yes! I sneaked into church yesterday. 
It is the only way a dog can get there. Sou¬ 
venir and Smellfoot also went. Smellfoot said 
it wasn’t because they really needed religion 
but merely^ because they wanted to see, for 
cnce, how it was done. Their faces didn’t look 
it, though, for they seemed very pious. They 
had been told that the services hadn’t changed 


since the church was built. 

I believe some of the queer looking tomb¬ 
stones dated back long before my ancestors 
became pets. 

The ceremony was the most weird I had ever 
heard. 

Smellfoot discovered me after he sat down 
and I crawled between his feet. 

Slowly the sound of little tinkling bells, ring¬ 
ing softly, filled the air: broken now and then 
by a clang of deep throated gongs. These last 
sounds made me very sad. I am so sympa¬ 
thetic. Very! I could hardly keep from voic¬ 
ing my sorrow. Smellfoot must have thought 
that I would, for twice he punched me with his 
foot. 

The priest I saw had on a gorgeous robe. 
He tried—yes, I mean tried—to sing all his 
readings and prayers. Small boys in white 
robes swung incense lamps to and fro. A 
group of females at one side suddenly opened 
up with a terrific barrage of fierce music. They 
slung it wildly and defiantly across to their 
male opponents. They didn’t know any more 
than three or four notes. I know five myself. 
After about fifteen minutes it got upon my 
nerves. 

I let out a howl! I can stand almost any¬ 
thing, you know, but this was too much. 

Souvenir grabbed my snout and cut off my 
wind. 

Of course everyone looked at Smellfoot, who 
I suppose, did look guilty. He turned red. 

It seems the first female barrage was a fail¬ 
ure. Back across the church came the male 
retorts, fierce, jerky, like the infantry firing at 


FORTUNES OF WAR 



This is a captured “dugout.” Inside are steps leading down to rooms 
forty-five feet under ground large enough to hold two companies of infantry. 

The curtain before the door is kept wet, so that in case of a gas attack it 
can be dropped to prevent the gas from entering. 

About twenty feet farther down is a thick wooden door which gives 
added protection to those in the dugout. In the entrance a guard is stationed 
who drops this curtain when necessary and gives the alarm with the auto 


horn vr U see fastened to the door frame. The interesting little objects that 
look like bugs, in and about the box in the corner, are not cooties—they 
are hand grenades. The men are playing “African Golf’; aM but one who 
is watching for aeroplanes, and incidentally officers. 

Gambling in the army was forbidden and when these games were pulled 
off the men usually had to be on their guard. 

Tige for some reason or other is not interested in the dice, but is playing 
a game of his own, called “scratch as scratch can.” 








will. Gradually their tones ended in deep 
booms like distant cannon. 

Fiercely opened up the second female offen¬ 
sive, slowly obtaining fire supremacy over their 
adversaries, whose booms died down to moans. 
As usual, the females won the day! 

I heard Souvenir telling G. 1. later that it was 
an old French war song. 

Gee! I believe it would make anyone want 
to fi<~ht just to hear it! 

The services in that church were so old that 
an American Catholic wouldn't recognize them 
at all. 

And now it comes! It started this way! 1 
got nervous and wanted to walk around. I 
wanted more air, for my head was almost split¬ 
ting. The morn 1 tried to get up the tighter 
Souvenir closed his legs upon my ribs. Just 
then some other gen 7 s, which had up to this 
time been quiet, suddenly let loose and I let out 
an awful yell. In trying to grab me Souvenir 
caught my ear and I made a noise as great as the 
female barrage. Lifting me,off the floor Sou¬ 
venir dove for the door, Smellfoot following. 
Everybody was shouting, shaking their fists and 
1 was kicking and snapping. I didn’t care 
much about myself, but I was trying to protect 
the man who carried me. When we got out¬ 
side 1 had between my teeth some goods eff a 
man’s pants, one collar button, two cuff links: 
and an old hat. 

¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ 

Well, we are packing up, so I imagine we ar t 
going to move again to “somewhere else ii* 
France”. 

Just about the lime we feel at home the r 


move us on again! 1 suppose they don’t want 
us to get too fond of any one place over here. 
1 don’t know exactly where I am now, any¬ 
ways, or where I’m going, so I guess I am not 
exercising any breach of military etiquette or 
rules by writing this. 

1 am just as glad to be on the move again 
as the boys, although I am not so busy. Of 
course I have my duties though, running down 
to the picket line and visiting the drivers and 
rest of the mules every so often. Also I in¬ 
spect the kitchens now and then in order to 
stand in with the cook. But outside of that I 
spend much of my time making the rounds 
seeing the bunch. 

But say, before we leave this place, I want to 
say lest I forget it, these are some houses 
over here. Each house has a cow room, 
chicken coop, horse room and wood room right 
adjoining its living room or one of its bedrooms. 

Sometimes the cow gets into the bedroom or 
the living room and makes herself at home. 

If she is quite satisfied the people, temporar¬ 
ily and without regrets, take up their abode in 
the cow shed. I suppose it really does not 
matter much which room they stay in although 
the cow room is usually the cleanest. No pro¬ 
vision is made for the dog. He sleeps in the 
place most convenient. 

Smellfoot says he will never get rid of his 
cooties as long as he has to sleep every night in 
the shrep-shed. 

¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ 

France is having another of her intense weep¬ 
ing spells end the mud is nearly up to my neck. 
We are all wet to the skin. 


LOOKING FOR THE USUAL SCRAP 



The man sitting on the French, stone, kitchen sink has a can of “goldfish. 
He has no steel helmet on, because there doesn’t happen to be an officer near; 
the “tin Lizzy,” in his opinion, is of no use except to ward off the abuse of his 
superiors, so he carries it on his back. His stomach is in good condition, for 
he believes in preparedness. You see the can of tomatoes, the can of corn 
bill and a box of crackers in the top of his pack. The pick in the picture is 
not always used for hard work. Today it is used to dig for souvenirs. 

Suddenly a shell hit the ground not far away. 


“Tige, said Smellfoot lifting his finger warningly and in a hushed voice, 
“keep your head down, do ya wanta get killed? If ya don’t wanta live go 
away off by yerself. Don’t try to bring the fire down on us. Supposin' they 
hit Corned Bill? Why yer eats is S. O. L. 1 don’t care personally how 
many shells they drop so long as they don’t upset this ’canned chicken.' The 
boche are great at hitting the can you know.” 

“Ya-a, and they’ll spill the beans too,” put in Slim. Come here Tige 
and get a knife full of them and some goldfish too. 



The boys are now “falling in” so I’ll take my 
place in line. Believe I will go with the carts. 

Although the boys wear their slickers over 
their overcoats they don’t keep out a drop of 
rain. Somebody got stung on those coats, I 
know, because I live with Smellfoot and he says 
so. The air is bitterly cold. 

Not a man in our machine gun company fell 
out today although all last night and today they 
fell out by dozens in other organizations. 

I understand we are to push on to another 
point. My friends the horses and mules are 
keeping up fine, although we have but one feed 
left. I heard the stable sergeant say they will 
get that tonight when they need it most. 

G. 1. Can, who grumbles at everything, says 
that he supposes we’ll hike all night tonight. 
He says we never rest! As though we didn’t 
rest for ten or fifteen minutes every hour. 
How much more does he want anyway? He 
forgets we had a square meal a week ago last 
Sunday, too. 

* * * * 

Everyone is still in good condition; although 
a little wobbly and footsore. This last hike 
lasted for three days. We are now camped for 
the night in an old German dugout and the 
boys are shooting craps. “Um-mmm, little 
Joe”. 

They won’t let me play with them anymore 
because the last time I did I swallowed one. 
smellfoot says that the cook was supposed to 
keep me supplied with bones. But a soldier 
is always taking chances so that’s where Smell- 
foot lost. 

But say! 1 bet I can lick any dog in Europe 


and I guess the boys feel the same way too. 
Americans think and move quicker than any 
other race. Smellfoot says our dogs are 
brighter, too. I guess the Kaiser is finding out 
to his sorrow just how much he underestimated 
us Americans. 

* * * * 

I don’t know just how many days we hiked 
this time but we feel "all in”. We seemed to 
walk while we slept and we seemed to sleep 
while we walked. 

We are going to rest here awhile. I heard 
the captain tell his Loui that, while I was in¬ 
vestigating about his tent. We all sleep in pup 
tents now. There is plenty of mud still, al¬ 
though in some places it isn’t as deep as others, 
but as usual our squad gets the deep mud. We 
are located in a dense wood at present. 

All day long, and in fact for a couple of days, 
the air high over head has been filled with queer 
droning noises. Some of them were like ex¬ 
press trains at home; others had a wobbling 
noise similar to the “gobble, gobble” of the 
turkey. The boys were so tired that they 
didn’t seem to pay much attention to them. I 
don’t especially like them myself though. Oc¬ 
casionally off in the distance one of these noises 
ends suddenly in a bang!” It sounds like one 
of those galvanized iron cans dropping, that 
Whitey, the cook, used to dump the remains 
of the dinner in; and in which he also cooked 
coffee, back in the training area. Smellfoot 
calls them G. I. Cans. 

Away up above the trees gray puffs of smoke 
in small circles appear, followed by loud re¬ 
ports. Now and then black puffs show among 


THE BOCHE IN A TIGHT PINCH 



One of the joys of no man's land was a wire cutting expedition. The 
wire at times was very cutting especially if you got entangled in it. 

The Hun officer in the picture will vouch for that. 

The two "heroes” in the shellhole have found a new use for their wire 
snips. An American, only, would thick of such a thing. 


The figures beyond are not turtles, they are Boche scurrying away to other 

holes. 

In the distance others are in orderly retreat. 

Searchlights are seen in the sky trying to locate aeroplanes. These are 
operated from a great distance back of the Boche lines. 





the gray ones. They are from our anti-aircraft 
guns, I understand, firing at Boche planes 
which are trying to locate us. ; You see we have 
been moving for several days past in small 
bodies scattered over long areas. 

I understand that we have many big guns 
hidden in this wood. They are pretty well hid¬ 
den, I assure you, for I came,.right up to them 
today before I saw them. The frog artillery is 
also thick in here. All day long they have 
been getting in our way and they don’t know 
one side of the road from the other. 

* * * * 

Gee! Every once in a while a shell drops in 
the woods near us with a whiz-z-Bang. 

Smellfoot said yesterday, while we were eat¬ 
ing our noonday luncheon in an old trench 
beside a ruin, that he didn’t care how many 
they dropped as long as they didn’t hit corn- 
willy. Just then one burst a short distance 
away. I actually believe the Boche had spies 
watching us eat that day for every place we 
went they dropped other shells just as near us. 
But we soon had to fall in again and move on. 
1 wish they would quit shelling at meal time. 
I don’t mind their shelling at night. I am get¬ 
ting so used to them that I wake up if they 
stop to take a rest for a few minutes. 

* * * # 

It is raining all the time now. I have taken up 
my abode with the train lieutenant who, with 
the stable sergeant and other excess baggage, 
sleep under the escort wagon. It is really more 
convenient here, as all the kitchen supplies are 
kept in the wagon. The lieutenant steals us a 
good feed now and then. Also it keeps off some 


of the rain, though none of the mud. The lieu¬ 
tenant and sergeant can hang up their boots 
and coats at night and have a dry place to put 
their tobacco and pipes. The lieutenant says 
he has all the comforts of home, except the 
blankets. He wrote another letter home just 
now. In it, I heard him tell the sergeant, he 
wrote, “Yes, Dear, I’m in France but just where 
in the — I’m at, I am not at liberty to state 
at present’’. 

# * * # 

Do you know the more I think of it the more 
I wonder we ever got here. We traveled prin¬ 
cipally at night, without lights of any kind, the 
men not permitted to smoke, no whistling or 
singing or noise of any kind, automobiles and 
trucks, machine gun carts, artillery, infantry, 
all moving down the road at one time. Down 
through the rain and mist aeroplanes amused 
themselves by dropping bombs and shooting up 
the road with machine guns. The lieutenant 
slept in the saddle, so did the sergeant. When 
we would stop, in order to locate the right road 
or for any cause whatever, I would drop down 
wherever I happened to be. The men did the 
same, some sleeping, leaning or bending over 
gun carts, while others stretched out in the cold 
mud of the gutters and went sound asleep and 
snored, yes, actually snored! Sometimes out¬ 
side and sometimes inside ruined villages, be¬ 
side dead horses or fallen walls. When we 
would move on again I would have to assist 
the officers and N. C. O.’s in awakening the 
boys. 

“And glad we have passed through purga¬ 
tory,” wrote the lieutenant, “and have reached 


VERY SHOCKING 



The troops on their way to the front had to pass behind and between 
these giant belchers of fire and noise. 

Whenever a gun would bark, a mule would jump. At every jump a 
driver was yanked into the air. The concussions would knock their knees 
from under them. 

Tige is wondering how many barks, jumps and “y an ks” will be required 
to lick the Boche. 

The roads here were in very good condition having been repaired for 


weeks beforehand. 

The big coast defense guns had been brought up slowly traveling nights 
and resting days under great piles of camouflaged material. 

There was hardly a spot sixty feet square that did not conceal an artil¬ 
lery position or a dugout. Quartermasters supplies and ammunition dumps 
were thick here. “Shellproofs” were also scattered about thickly. These 
were made of corrugated iron, covered with boughs to escape aeroplane 
observation and somehow looked like African huts. 






east Hell. Can’t tell just when we will get 
Hell proper or meet his Royal Highness but it 
will be soon. We are certainly fixing to give a 
fourth of July celebraticn, in the middle of 
September, in ye good old American style. 
Hope the Kaiser can be present as I have a re¬ 
membrance especially reserved for him.’’ 

The lieutenant is almost as good as Smell- 
foot and my mother. I feel like kissing him at 
times but I don’t dare. He won’t let any of 
us get very familiar with him. Besides he 
might use disciplinary measures. If I keep 
him at a distance he will not get familiar either. 
He only pats me now and that is enough. I 
saw him stand up in a kicking match with a 
mule cnce. He was still kicking when the 
mule was through and wanted to quit. 

* * * * 

Was up in some trenches last night. We 
walked in single-file down a road for several 
miles before we got there. Gee! but things 
were spooky! Several times we were chal¬ 
lenged by sentries. No word was spoken, just 
so many slaps on the gas mask and the return 
answer the same way. I did a lot of sniffing 
around, there were smells up there that I had 
never dreamed of before in my philosophy! 
Smell foot fastened an extra gas mask on 
me but I didn’t have to wear it. Once while 
crossing a crossroads several big shells fell just 
beyond us and exploded in the road. I beat it 
as fast as I could but seeing that no one was 
coming with me 1 returned kind of ashamed 
and went along with G. I. Can, who brought 
up the rear of our squad. I don’t know wheth¬ 
er he is nicknamed G. I. Can because he eats 


everything that a garbage can does, or because 
he is watching the falling shells. He always 
talks and mumbles about them and makes 
everyone grin or laugh. 

Our squad carried one Browning machine 
gun and ammunition with us. What they 
couldn’t carry in boxes they strung around their 
necks. They say it is easier to carry the belts 
that way. They look like porcupines. 

We stopped to get water at a little running 
brook. The Boche were shelling a spot quite 
near us. We finally left the wood behind us 
and started off across the open ground. The 
night was very dark, but every now and then it 
was lit up by star shells and flares. Colored 
signal stars burst and fell, away off ahead of 
us. Big guns behind us boomed and distant 
cannon somewhere in front answered. 

Ra-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of ma¬ 
chine guns off in every direcion. More fre¬ 
quently now, shells and shrapnel burst around 
us. Finally we stopped on the road. I went 
forward to investigate and found a soldier who 
said he was a runner from Company P. C. sent 
to escort us there. So we started on again. 
Dcn’t know what Company P. C. means unless 
it stands for “pretty close.’’ The ground was 
hilly here and whenever a flare or star shell lit 
up I could see that at one time the hills had 
been covered with trees which had been shot 
down and mangled. Stumps stuck up weirdly 
against the sky line. Horrible odors and com¬ 
binations of odors reached us. I was firmly 
convinced we were now near the Boche lines 
for that reason. I had been taught to hate 
them and knew that if the odor didn’t come 


THE ONLY WAY THOSE TWO GOT TOGETHER 



Seems strange how circumstances throw peop'e together doesn't it? 
"Where is the lieutenant?" yelled Smellfoct excited y in G. I.’s ear. 
“I am a runner from Comnany P. C.” 

“With the captain,” blurted G. 1. his breath almost knocked out of him. 
“Where is the caotain?" shrieked Smellfoot. 

“With the major! came the retort. 


"Where is the m.a-’or?” 

"In the deepest dugout!" 

I’ve got a message for him!” 

So ha- e 1! And the next minute thev were gone. 

So was Fige. It was no place for any self-respecting dog. 



from them direct that they were responsible for 
it anyway. It was simply rotten! Many dead 
horses and wrecked wagons were scattered 
along the side of the road. Occasionally artil¬ 
lery ammunition carts blocked the road, some 
coming and some going, and water wagons and 
troops resting, stopped us. But we simply 
closed up and went ahead, following the guide. 
Here and there a battery would open up either 
to our left or right, usually in a hollow, some¬ 
times all the guns shooting at one time, or sin¬ 
gly. There was much cursing going on in the 
road in muffled tones. Finally we took a path 
which led off to the left, passing down another 
hill. Whenever the sky was lit up, we would 
stop still and crouch until they died down 
again. At last we reached the P. C. Here an¬ 
other runner escorted us up to platoon P. C. 
which is closer still and from there a third run¬ 
ner took us to our gun position. We had to 
climb down into a dark hole. 

* * * * 

Souvenir pushed me in and Smellfoot caught 
me. After crawling awhile we finally got into 
an open trench. Down this we passed, being 
challenged every few feet, until at last after a 
half-hour’s travel we went into another hole 
called a dugout. This was built in the side of 
the trench. Here we were told was our new 
"home sweet home.” There were bunks in 
the sides, also a great variety of cooties. Some 
I had never eaten before, rather sour to the 
taste. I imagined, of course, they were either 
German or Austrian. Well, I decided to sleep 
with Smellfoot again for you know he is my 
real bunky and he gets sore if I stay away too 
much. But 1 can l always sleep good. 

Along about one o’clock when Souvenir 


Hunt and G. I. Can were called out by the ser¬ 
geant, I strolled along with them. No one ever 
seemed to mind me much. 

Down a zigzag connecting trench we went. 
A short distance away in the angle of a fire 
trench we stopped. 

The sergeant explained that we were to go 
out and cut some wire. I say we, although to 
tell the truth, he never mentioned my name. 
I was only a volunteer. I felt as though some¬ 
thing was about to happen and I had better be 
in the party. - \ 

The sergeant told us what to do, it sounded 
easy and reasonable. He wasn’t excited at all. 

So over the top we went. G. I. Can first, 
Souvenir afterwards and then Tige. I had to 
jump several times and then the sergeant saw 
me. He made a grab for me but he was too 
late. As he reached for me I put in new energy 
and over I went. 

* * * * 

Gee, it was fun! All I had to do was to keep 
down and crawl on my belly when Souvenir 
crawled; and stop when he stopped, which was 
quite frequent, as we had to listen and couldn’t 
move whenever flares lit up no man’s land. 
Souvenir and G. I. Can both had their hands 
and faces smeared with mud before they start¬ 
ed out so that they couldn’t be seen easily. But 
I don’t think that this was at all necessary, as 
we had to root a furrow through no man’s land 
in mud a foot deep. 

I heard Souvenir whisper that he had for¬ 
gotten his gun and G. I. answered back that 
he had, too. But of course they were only go¬ 
ing out to cut a little wire so why bother about 
a little thing like that. 

It wasn’t so far to the Boche wire; but it was 


l HKtt OF A KIND 



1 A. 





"A w 

w ■ 










LY> 


Note the humming birds and flying victrolas in the distance. Isn’t it a 
peaceful scene? 

That I suppose, is why the mule sits down to rest. He appears quite 
contented. 

The long bag on the halter does not contain oats. It is a gas mask. 

So you see the mule isn’t hungry. He wants to be gassed. In another 
minute he will disrobe himself of the French harness, the machine gun cart 


shafts, and lie down. 

The driver has just been told that in two minutes the spot he now occu¬ 
pies will be shelled. Isn’t it interesting. 

“Don’t use profanity, G. I.,” said the sergeant, “according to orders 
from Washington, we must speak kindly to the anima's.” 

”Ya a,” answers G. 1. Then to the mule, “ but wait till I get you alone, 

i * * 

angel. 















slow work. While my comrades were cutting 
1 made my presence known. Both used a lit¬ 
tle unpreacherly language under their breath, 
but I think that they were pleased at that. As 
they worked 1 crept off a short distance to a 
shell hole. Both my comrades 1 could see out 
of the corner of my eye were working indus¬ 
triously. After resting here awhile I crept out 
to see if it wasn’t time to go home. 

Zowee! I looked straight into the face of a 
Boche. Almost a full minute we looked at 
each other. He was just as scared and sur¬ 
prised as I was. When I yelped he turned 
about and turtle fashion beat it toward another 
hole. Then instantly I recovered my courage 
and charged, grasping him just where his tail 
would have been had he been a dog. 

Down we went together and up again. As 
quick as he loosened me from one place I got a 
fresh hold on another until eventually we got 
all tied up in barbed wire. I soon got loose but 
he didn’t. Never did I hear such language be¬ 
fore. I didn’t imagine there was such a great 
variety of pigs in the world. He must have 
called me at least two or three hundred differ¬ 
ent kinds. Good thing though that I couldn’t 
understand all he said, I am rather refined for 
an army dog. But some other boche did and 
1 saw them scrambling madly back toward their 
trenches silhouetted against the skyline. I saw 
them disappear in orderly retreat. When I was 
convinced that my prisoner was well fastened 
1 made a hurried reconnaissance in the direction 
of my party. As 1 neared their hole I saw Sou¬ 
venir Hunt holding tightly, a Boche, by the 
nose, with his wire cutters, the Hun was trying 
to say Kamarad through his nose. He was 
certainly in a tight pinch. 


G. I. Can also held a prisoner in the identical 
manner l caught my first grip on my prisoner, 
only instead of his teeth he used his wire cut¬ 
ters. 

But wire cutters I firmly believe are not as 
dependable as teeth for as I looked the prisoner 
escaped, turtling it swiftly away into the dis¬ 
tance leaving that part of his trousers worn the 
thinnest in G. I.’s wire cutters. 

I immediately returned to my prisoner, G. I. 
following. When we had untangled him from 
his clothes and the wire we crept back to our 
line urging forward our prisoners with teeth 
and pincers. I heard Souvenir’s victim, who 
had, it seems, been a saloon keeper in Chicago 
before the war, say, that in all his experiences 
he had never been in such a tight pinch before. 
* * * * 

Well, last night the Captain sent Smellfoot 
back to the carts. He is a runner, now, carry¬ 
ing messages from Co. P. C. to the train. 

Orders were that the lieutenant was to get 
ammunition up as soon as possible. 

We arrived at the woods in which the carts 
were located just before the moon came up. 
It was about 11:30 said the stable sergeant 
who looked at his watch. 

Suddenly a shell burst overhead, another and 
another until the air about us, seemed alive 
with vibrations. 

Limbs of trees fell about us amidst strange 
humming and droning sounds, like overgrown 
mosquitoes probably would make if they were 
the size of elephants. Somebody yelled shrap¬ 
nel. 

Then my head was jammed into the gas 
mask while all about me I heard the pounding 
of iron pipes and tin cans, and wild cries. 


THE QUESTION OF TICE S PEDIGREE 



If it wasn't for the September "Fourth of July celebration," in the sky 
overhead, you might think these fellows were out for a stroll on a Sunday 
afternoon. 

G. 1. Can, pointing to Tige who has just come up with Smellfoot, who 
this day carries the tripod, says, "this dog has more nerve than half a dozen 
doughboys.” 


"Cowan,” says the infantryman, "I can't see why he associates with a 
machine gunner then.” 

"That’s the reason,” says G. I. 

"Wonder who he was in civil life?” says the doughboy scratching his 
head. 


"Pretty hard to say.” 









I heard later that immense shells also fell 
about us filled with hand grenade. Let me tell 
you, here, that from what 1 have seen it is hard 
to get a mule harnessed in broad daylight. But 
in the inky darkness—well, what’s the use? 
We came out all right, all right! 

It took one whole hour before the last cart 
was hitched. Strange to say we didn’t leave a 
thing behind. 

The lieutenant told me later, while patting 
my head, that it was pretty hard to stand there 
and throw the bluff that he wasn’t excited. If 
those duffers only knew how he felt they 
would have bolted, “toot sweet.’’ 

When we left the woods and started down 
the road, we found that it also was being blown 
to smithereens. 

The Boche evidently had the range to every¬ 
thing and every place. 

Trucks, carts, escort wagons, field kitchens 
and water carts, littered the road, and were 
piled up on either side. Fallen horses kicked 
their legs until they could kick no more. Pan¬ 
demonium was let loose! 

I heard that some of our own carts were 
getting it now. We were told to “double time” 
it, down to the crossroads, keeping our inter¬ 
val of thirty paces between carts. The ser¬ 
geant and I led the way, while the Loui stayed 
to see that the last cart passed safely. We were 
nearing “central hell” much faster than we had 
expected. As we rounded the cross roads an 
immense shell struck the ground about thirty 
feet in front of us, square in the middle of a 
French battery, killing four “hoirmes” and six 
“chevoux” strewing their parts over the road 
and in the nearby trees. More shells were 
striking the road a short distance beyond. 


The sergeant turned and led the train off in 
the opposite direction. I, gas mask and all, fol¬ 
lowed closely at his heels. Finally, my friends 
the mules—that is what were left of them— 
were placed in shell proof stables. These were 
provided in advance, unknowingly, by our bil- 
letting committee, the retreating Boche. I and 
the rest of the boys, crawled into a dugout. 

Don’t see how anyone got off that road 
alive, especially me, a mere dog. Kicking, 
screaming horses, backing wagons, motor cy¬ 
cles and trucks, coming and going, wild men, 
some without gas masks, yelling, swearing and 
gesticulating. Shrapnel burst overhead and 
shells dropped in and around us. Sherman had 
a glimpse of Heaven only—not Hell. 

Up to this time our own artillery had been 
comparatively silent. But now, slowly at first, 
it opened up. A small field piece, here and 
there, then some larger ones and more and 
more, until at last the sky was as bright as day 
from the flashes! 

Then not a single Boche shell came over. 

We had gained fire supremacy and were put¬ 
ting the “kibosche” on the dutch. 

I never heard such a noise in all my life. 
Every time I tried to yell I would almost swal¬ 
low my gas mask. 

Those big coast defence guns which had 
been hidden for months everywhere, as thick 
as flees for miles around, opened up. The air 
suction would jar your knees out from under 
you and almost knock you down. Uncle 
Sam’s surprise party for his satanic majesty, 
Kaiser Bill! W^ere he had expected to shell 
only infantry with small artillery support he 
punctured a hornets’ nest! 


KAMARAD 



Tige occasionally made excursions into no man’s land. • . 

Once he “smelled” up a Boche. 

The Boche evidently was trying to get into the American lines. He 
carried a gas mask in the can you see in the picture, as a souvenir for one 
of our friends. 

In the sky two star shells are seen three hundred feet above ground. 
They, and the distant “flare” light up no man’s land. Americans, as a rule. 


wisely allowed the Boche to furnish the artificial lighting system needed there, 
demonstrating the usual American shrewdness. 

Stars from a signal rocket are falling to the right, giving a range to *he 
German artillery farther back. These rockets usuallv are sent up from the 
front lines. 

The posts, that support the barbed wire in the foreground, are made 
corkscrew style at the bottom, so they can be worked into the ground with¬ 
out the noise of hammering. 






Thus started the greatest drive in the world’s 
history. 

There was more artillery, and of larger cali¬ 
ber, here, than was ever seen. 

From the time we left the dugout that night 
until the end of the fifth day we had a very 
sweet time. “Toot-sweet.’’ 

Up to now we had only lost seven horses 
and eight carts. Don’t remember how many 
r^cn but they more than tallied with the num¬ 
ber of carts. The worst of it was we had to go 
forward over roads our own artilley had blown 
to pieces. In some places we couldn’t even 
find a spot large enough for a mule to walk on. 
So you see, our artillery wasn’t slouching 
either. My respect for them has increased ten¬ 
fold. 

In some places the engineers were trying to 
fill the holes. By now we had reached a point 
far ahead of our own guns and the Boche wera 
now shelling us from the front. As fast as the 
engineers filled the holes new ones appeared. 
Night and day these road builders worked, 
amidst moving ammunition carts, supply 
trains, artillery and machine gun carts, from 
every organization around, seeking to reach 
their separate units who they knew needed 
them badly. Empty ammunition carts, return¬ 
ing to the rear, mingled with ambulances and 
wounded soldiers being helped or carried or on 
foot, added to the congestion. 

Here and there swearing M. P.’s were trying 
to regulate traffic. 

Men would stand dazed, in front of vehicles 
until knocked down or moved aside. 

I saw one fellow, pushed to one side by 
stretcher bearers, stand 'h'-re unt‘1 pushed back 
again by a party coming from the opposite di¬ 


rection. 

More men now were straggling rearward, 
with bandaged heads and arms drooping for¬ 
ward; some leaning on others, some walking 
with sticks, like old men. They were smeared 
from head to foot with mud and blood! They 
\ ere no longer boys! 

Now and then Boche prisoners passed to¬ 
ward the rear. Whenever any of them tried 
to get friendly with me I usually left a bad im¬ 
pression. Usually on the lower part of theii 
anatomy. 

Overturned and broken vehicles, dead men 
and horses everywhere. Slowly we wormed 
our way to a town that Smollfoot said remind¬ 
ed one of Pompeii. 

Well, what’s the use of telling our troubles; 
it wasn’t all trouble! A fellow gets loose oc¬ 
casionally, when his keeper isn’t looking, so 
I can’t help saying just a few things more. The 
Huns held us up finally on a certain hill be¬ 
cause we had reached a point far in advance of 
our artillery and couldn’t go on without their 
support. So Smellfoot and I returned to the 
company. Hope I will never obtain another 
glimpse of Hell like this first one. 

We had to crawl over dead and dying men 
and horses, in some places, five feet high in 
that ruined town. 

Our division is pretty well shot to pieces, 
not so many dead as wounded. Our officers 
are all more or less bunged up, two of whom 
were taken to hospitals. I, myself, stopped a 
machine gun bullet with my leg! Smellfoot 
said it was a good thing I did, for if it had gone 
much farther it mipht have killed somebody 
and also that I should get the congressional 
medal pinned on my leg for saving somebody’s 


TIGE GETS HIS “DUTCH" UP 



X/M^d 

fk ' ^ 

JP - JL Vi ' 

■um “ 







11 it . 



This was not posed for a movie machine. 

The man seen hanging from a tree is a Boche sniper. 

He is not looking for snipes at present. He is otherwise engaged—so 
are his pants. 

The dog is either trying to disengage them or the Boche. He isn’t at 
all particular which. 

The tree they are in was formerly a sniping oos f . Doubtless higher up 
in the branches a machine gun had once been hidde n. 


The tree with the ladder is one of many used for Hun observation pur- 
noses in the Argonre forest. The two Americans are coming from a dugoui. 
These dugouts and shellproofs were very plentiful along the narrow gauge, 
sectional railroads, that honeycombed the great woods. The track is laid in 
seven tie sections. Note between the trees how it is laid in a bed so that 
shells will pass right over it. 

1 he two Americans are not merely touring France for their health. 
They are simply scientists seeking the "germ” of death. 






life. As though it was the only one running 
around with an address on it! 

G. I. Can just came up, and as usual, gave 
us the latest rumor. 

Our Colonel, after a pleas :nt afternoon 
spent in a shell hole on crackers and shell-hole 
water, decided to depart that evening for some 
hospital in the rear where he would not be so 
neglected. He had contracted “gas tritus” or, 
they claimed he would have to be treated for 
it. At cny rate he will get a little better eats 
than he has been getting, for a while. I sup¬ 
pose he didn’t went to go for G. I. says they 
had to carry him. 

* * * * 

Souvenir Hunt is in his glory. “Beaucoup” 
Souvenirs! Camouflage helmets, knives- 
watches, guns, machine-gun parts, pistols, 
iron-crosses and lots of things. 

Smellfoot sneaked out and hunted himself 
a pair of shoes early this morning. He got a 
pair of boots instead. They were “made in 
Germany,” I guess, as he brought back with 
him a barefooted German. He said that this 
one only, had feet the size of his. 

Gee! You can get anything you want— 
anything but eats. Slim just located our kitch¬ 
en and said, although they had no provisions, 
they had found, in a dugout, four doz~n bottles 
of mineral water and would serve that to th~ 
boys for dinner, but we shouldn't let the med¬ 
icos get next. 

But changing the subject: French ways are 
doubtless all right, but they are so different to 
what an American dog sees at home. 

1 and some of the others, stooped behind a 
hill the other day to breathe for a moment. 
There were about twenty “baby tanks” all 


about us. A French “Soldat” was talking half- 
breed American to us. 

“Ah! Ze Americ infantree par bon! par 
bon! azy no vate for ze tanks; par bon!” 

But no wonder! Every time they preceded 
us the Boche would throw a terrific barrage. 
The tanks would then turn about and seek the , 
shelter on the opposite side of the hill often in 
the midst of our infantry who would then get 
orders to advance. We had less casualties 
when this comic opera stuff was left off the 
program. 

A short time later we were waddling through 
a town, mud up to our neck. An American on a 
worn out horse pushed by. As he passed us, 
his horse slipped and almost fell. 

“That's the stuff! Slip, slide, hop! I don’t 
care which, so long as you get me there.” 

The tanks aren’t worth two hurrahs! You 
should have seen them form carefully, in a line, 
run up and over a hill, fire a few shots, turn 
about and dash madly for cover followed by 
shells, thus bringing the fire down on our heads. 

We are going to give America and the world 
a real Christmas present this time. We shall 
supplant the iron cross, with a great Christian 
flag. 

"Hell, Heaven, or Hoboken by Christmas, is 
our battle cry.” 

***** 

We are over on another sector now. Fritzie 
is dropping shrapnel all around us and last 
night presented us with gobs of gas. But as 
our artillery now sends back ten shots for every 
one he sends us—and we don’t shoot “duds” 
either,—I don’t believe he slept anymore com¬ 
fortably than we did. 

We now occupy shacks and dugouts we just 


THE RIGHT STREET BUT THE WRONG ADDRESS 



Number one and number two of this machine gun squad are in a hol£. 
This hole was dug several days before. They had just started a three hour 
barrage. 

In fifteen minutes the Boche had the range to their position, and for the 
balance of the three hours, shells fell thick and fast about them. 

During all this time, there was but one catastrophe. A shell burst directly 


in front of this squad’s hole, half burying them. Their machine gun was hit 
and blown fifteen feet in the air. The water box fell and struck No. two on 
the head. 

Number three, who carries the ammunition, and our friend Tige looking 
from the dugout, don’t know whether to call the medico or the chaplain. 

If the shell just hitting the tree hadn’t been a dud the chaplain would 
have buried the whole works including Tige. 









took from the Hun. They were living here, 
very comfortably, and evidently had no 
thought of moving. Some of the tables were 
set, sheets were on the bed, shoes, clothing, 
hanging on the walls and on the floor. Bottles 
cf wine, unopened, stood here and there. 
Women’s shoes and other apparel were scat¬ 
tered about. There are plenty of horseshoes 
and nails, if we only had the horses to put 
them on. We have only eight horses left out 
of thirty-five. Of course, we are much obliged 
for small favors. Don’t think for a minute that 
we are ungrateful. We found, also, a dugout 
partly filled with potatoes, cabbage and onions. 
I can eat onions now, when they are flavored 
with something else. This life changes even a 
dog’s views. I am not as particular as I used 
to be. Funny, how one’s taste will change! 
There are several nice springs of water, too. 
We are going to chase Heinie again in a few 
days; just as scon as we get our wind. He 
sure is some Marathon! Wish we could cap¬ 
ture some horses or mules from him as we need 
them badly! The only ones he has left behind 
so far we have had to bury in self-defence. 

* * * * 

The sun has shown only once in the last two 
weeks. Everybody is on the doctor’s list. 
Gonfidentially, our medico is not a doctor at all. 
He is a graduate dentist, but is a game rooster. 

Fritzie left several big ovens of charcoal, also 
a few hand cars on tracks that lead from our 
quarters to the ovens. So we should bibble! 

Each shack has a nice little iron stove. I 
should worry! 

After that last five-day chase we gave him, 
everybody had a running desire. I guess our 
nerves are getting settled now, somehow. 


Doc said the main cause for our ailment was 
due to the famished condition of our stomachs. 
But 1 don’t believe him! I remember distinctly 
eating three crackers and lapping up shellhole 
water three days before we arrived here. So 
you see we had plenty to eat. 

You know the roads are so torn up and we 
move forward so fast that our supplies cannot 
keep up with us. 

One thing, Fritzie, old top, that gives us a 
pleasure in chasing you, if we are close enough 
we can always get goodies to eat, although we 
have to run so fast after you we can’t hardly 
take the time to enjoy our food. 

Smellfoot just returned from down the road 
where he had managed to buy some cigarettes 
and chocolate from a French commissary. 
Funny our commissaries can’t keep up with 
us. 

The mud here is an improvement on all pre¬ 
vious mentioned mud. It is like glue but we 
are used to it, now. It seems to make us stick 
closer together! 

Since we took this Gibraltar hill, which the 
Hun bet we couldn’t, he thinks nothing will 
stop us. I guess he’s right. We took it in a 
day. * * * * 

These woods are a mass of telephone wires. 
We don’t dare cut them, the captain says, for 
you can’t tell which belongs to us and which to 
the Boche. 

Early this morning, while on my way to see 
that the horse-guard was awake, I saw a figure 
slowly climbing a tree. I was firmly convinced 
that he was a Boche and that the tree no longer 
belonged to him. I charged directly at him 
without saying a word, and caught hold of that 
part of him nearest to me. He was so taken by 


AN IDEAL POSITION 



The potato masher at the top center, is a Hun hand grenade. 

The dog in the shell hole is not a water spaniel, but he is enthusiastic 
about his position. It is the best one he can find. 

Number one, the man behind the gun also likes his surroundings. He 
is firifig as fast as he can. The faster he fires the less he hears what is falling 
around him. What he is shooting at is best known by his section sergeant. 
When a belt of cartridges has been fired he yells excitedly until another is put 
in. 


Number two lying on the ground, embracing number one’s back with his 
feet, has rolled a dead Hun in front of him for concealment. His duties are 
to see that the gun is kept fed. 

Number one is not camouflaged as a porcupine. The extra belts wrapped 
about him are placed there simply for convenience. He has jammed his 
automatic near him in the mud in order that it may be handy if anything 
should happen to the machine gun and he should need it in close quarters. 

Very thoughtful indeed! 




















surprise that he yelled "Kamarad” at the top of 
his voice. 

Higher anJ higher he climbed, trying the 
while to shake me loose. He even crawled out 
on a limb and hung by his hands kicking wild¬ 
ly. 1 wanted to let go but 1 didn’t dare, it was 
too far to the ground. 

Finally the stable sergeant and Slim, who 
h pp^ned to be cn guard at that time, came up. 
\. hen they saw what I had, they gave the 
alarm; and the bunch came hurrying up. 
\vhen they had enjoyed the scene sufficiently, 
th^y loosened me and pulled the Boche down 
by the legs. It seems he had been spying 
around Company P. C. for sometime and had 
a telephone in the tree from which he sent his 
messages. It was an old observation post. We 
didn’t find out where he spent his days though. 
So again I received much praise. I had caught 
another prisoner. 

But in spite of my popularity, like all the 
rest, I wish this disagreeable business was over. 
However, I mean to “outstick the dutch.’’ 

The French seem to enjoy rooting around in 
this mud forever. 

I wculcn’t give them one inch of the great 
American desert for all of Europe. 

* * * * * 

Well, for sixty-five days now, we have 
been under shellfire and constantly chased 
back the Boche, foot by foot, through mud and 
fog. We have hardly had time to eat—or the 
v herewith—and no water to drink, except 
what we could find in shellholes. 

1 am beginning to know which shellholes to 
drink out of. I have had some very sad ex¬ 
periences with new ones. Pluto water has 
nothing on these. 


We only sleep when completely exhausted. 
Yesterday we started out early in the morning 
in a cold, thick fog, to attack a high hill across 
a wide valley. Two rivers, which the Huns had 
dammed farther down, lay in this valley. The 
valley was also pock-marked with immense 
shellholes but these were completely hidden 
under ice-coated water, which flooded the 
v hole area. The nearer shellholes, as we de¬ 
scended, were so close together that the ground 
looked like a polka-dot-dress worn, after ten 
years of constant wear in the jungles of Africa, 
by a female gorrilla. But the rest was a vast 
swamp. 

The gas has kind of gotten into my throat. 
After wading through water all day, swift run¬ 
ning in places, so deep that it was up to Smell- 
foot’s neck at times, I can’t bark at all. My 
lungs feel as if there was a huge steel plate on 
them. 

Say, it’s interesting to wade through an ice- 
covered swamp, tumbling into hidden holes 
anywhere from five to twenty feet deep, in a 
fog so dense that you can’t see thirty feet 
ahead, while all the time machine gun bullets 
are flying about you like hail! 

When we reached the hill on the opposite 
side of the valley, soaked and oozy, we sank 
down on the heavily frosted grass. When we 
first started, we were supposed to support the 
right of the first wave, but somehow we passed 
them in the fog. Luckily, we were not mis¬ 
taken for Boche, being only a couple of hun¬ 
dred yards ahead of the right of our infantry. 
But we had troubles enough without that. 

The Boche sniped at us constantly with ma¬ 
chine guns and dropped big shells among us. 


* * * * 


FOOD FOR THOUGHT 


% 



This white man, whose stomach had been flirting with his back bone for 
several days, wandered back A. W. O. L., seeking what he might devour. He 
is now in a captured trench. Although he might be very hungry, he could 
not possibly mistake the town of Montfaucon on the distant hill for a bunch 
of spinach. 

The colored doughboy sitting on the ammunition box, is refusing to 
exchange his loaf of French bre^d, carried on nis bayonet, for an Iron Cross 
and a Croix de Guerre. 


The captured enemy machine gun, with the nipple stuck in its mouth, 
is no baby. It took from ten to twelve Boche to carry it. 

During a barrage the other day Souvenir Hunt crawled under a truck 
to get out of the way. He didn’t know that it was loaded with ammunition. 

A French officer passing by, asked what he was doing there. 

Instantly Souvenir replied that he was trying to fix the machine. 

The officer was so impressed by this show of bravery that he immediately 
recommended him for a Croix de Guerre. Souvenir is very proud of it. 






Late in the afternoon, one at a time, we 
clicked back out of range and reassembled on 
the bank of the second river, in rear of the right 
of our infantry. It was easy going back, 
as the shells didn’t fall any closer together, 
than automobiles passing each other on a busy 
thoroughfare at six P. M. back home. 

Our artillery had not yet been placed in po¬ 
sition, so of course could give us no support. 

Miracles surely happen, nowadays. Strange 
to say, just a few of us were scratched, al¬ 
though some of the shells blew holes in the 
ground twenty to thirty feet in diameter and 
the machine gun bullets sang by our ears. 

Then our artillery opened up and our ma¬ 
chine guns, too. About 1 A. M. Hell was let 
loose! This lasted until eleven minutes of 
eleven today, the eleventh day of the 
eleventh month, when we suddenly received 
orders to cease firing. 

This was complied with to the letter. 

Bugles were produced which had been silent 
for months. Cheers deafened the air and men 
got up out of their hastily dug trenches, cov¬ 
ered with mud and ice, and danced in mad fren¬ 
zy. I didn’t realize why I felt so good, but ran 
wildly about trying to bark and make friends 
with everybody, for suddenly everything seem¬ 
ed different. I knew something good had hap¬ 
pened, so when the excitement had died down 
a little I pricked up my ears and listened. I 
could hear, distinctly, the glad cries of the 
Boche celebrating on the other side of the hill. 
Someone said that an armistice was on. But 
Smellfoot, who had been hit eleven times in 
the eleventh hour said the war was over. 

All evening the Boche sent up red, white and 
blue rockets. So did we. 


Don’t know whether I like it so quiet or not. 
Things don’t seem at all natural now. No 
shells falling or anything! If this keeps up I 
wen t be able to sleep! 

The shed I am in has candles burning before 
open windows and there are lights twinkling in 
the windows of Boche shacks across the valley. 
We haven’t been permitted to have lights ex¬ 
posed for months. 

The medico says that I have been gassed but 
being a dog I may recover. 

I understand the Boche are to retire and we 
are to slowly follow them back to the German 
border, about twenty miles from here. 

* * * * * 

This is Sunday, a nice, quiet day. What do 
you think? 

The sun stuck his head out through the 
clouds. Some joker! 

I am getting so I don’t believe him anymore 
than I did the Boche when he hollered “Kama- 
rad.” You know it is better to shoot him first 
and then take him prisoner. We used to be 
easy marks for them, they were such prevari¬ 
cators. We believed them when they yelled 
Kamarad and held up their hands; but many 
Americans lie buried in “No Mans Land” on 
account of being too credulous; so eventually 
we took no chances, and few prisoners. 

But talking about the sun I think that if it 
had appeared oftener some things would have 
been brighter over here. Most of the time we 
groped through a fog with fogged brains. 

Except for a few officers, very few men 
knew the day and date unless they laboriously 
puzzled and pieced together events. One day 
seemed to run right into the next, for we 
worked night and day; Sunday and week day 





u . ‘ 


HEINIE SUDDENLY THINKS 


■5 


No dear reader, that is not a big umbrella stuck in. the mud. It is the 
K mud itself. An instrument, previously one of Uncle Sam’s big shells, casually 
dropped into the ground. 

Heinie also dropped things! He dropped his intention of eating his next 


square meal in Paris and several other things. 

- His horse has good horse-sense. He is running toward the 
lines. Heinie doesn't need him anyway. By the looks of things 
would only be in the way. Heinie wishes to.run.away that he 
again some other day. 


American 
the horse 
may figh^ 





alike. 

The scenery here is very beautiful, in spite 
of the wreckage. 

T here is little more to bo said. 

G. I. Can went to an officers’ training school, 
upon being recommenced by his commanding 
general, where eventually he was examined by 
a bunch of officers, who had never been near 
the front. They rejected him on account of 
being “inefficient;’’ but he was honorably dis¬ 


charged! Smellfoct went to a hospital. Sou¬ 
venir Hunt had something worse happen to 
him. He got married! He now spends his 
time on a perpetual K. P. He was well trained 
in this line he says. 

About myself! Well, it doesn t matter 
much! 

I am only a dog, but still one hundred per¬ 
cent American. I live with Souvenir, awaiting 
the return of Smellfoot. 


Finis 


WILL YOU DO A FAVOR? 

This bock has been dedicated to The American Legion and is being sold by the thousands 
of individual Pests as a means of raising needed f nds for Post Treasuries. 

As this book has pleased you, so will it please thousands of others. While it will “tickle” 
the boys who were “Over There”—it will greatly interest Fathers, Mothers, Sisters, Brothers, 
SWEETHEARTS and friends who have been unable to draw out their Soldier Boy enough to get 
a good conception of the life he led. 

Will YOU—bearing in mind the help you well be giving the boys to place their Posts on a 
good financial basis—take every opportunity offered to boost the sale of “A Dog’s Life.” Every 
book sold nets some Post $1.00. 

Keep the book on your library table, or along with your photo albums, where those who call 
at the house will see it. Thus you will be able to make at least six sales by calling attention to the 
ORDER POSTALS on the opposite page, and furthermore you may be instrumental in securing 
a great number of additional ordejrs. More Order Postals will be sent you on request. (Address, 
The Eoff-Sewell Co., 711 Madison Ave., Toledo, O.) 

REMEMBER—If you are interested :’n see’ng that your favorite Post shall get the credit for 
these orders, be sure to fill out the ORDER POSTALS yourself in advance, otherwise the credit 
will go to the County Legion Headquarters to be d’vided up among the various Posts in your 
county. 

YOUR FAVOR WILL BE APPRECIATED! 




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